Page 65 of Crown of Roses
“You do. You’re just afraid to admit it.” He leaned in even closer, until the tips of their noses almost touched. “I rather like it when you lie to me.”
Then he released her completely and she toppled backward into the fountain. Ice cold water soaked clear through to her bones, and she shoved upward, sputtering and spitting. Her gaze cut to him.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
“Dreamer,” he whispered. Then he straightened, sheathed his sword, and dusted off his shoulder. Like she was nothing. “Cool down, darling. I already told you once, I never dapple with mortals.”
Fury ignited inside her, but he turned on his heel and left her there, sitting on her butt in a fountain, drenched with water. “Fucking fae,” she muttered, and shoved her wet hair back from her face.
“Maeve!” Saoirse rushed over, grabbed her hand, and hauled her to her feet. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” Maeve stared at Tiernan’s back, watched him walk away with Lir and Merrick by his side. She couldn’t handle his constant humiliation, the way he incessantly shamed her and left her feeling completely worthless. Even in her most vulnerable form, naked and feverish, he’d insulted her, taunted her. Tiernan was the worst sort of fae. He wasn’t nightmarish. Or monstrous. Those she could handle. Those she could fight. No, the High King of the Summer Court was a complete asshole.
And she hated him.
He had no intention of helping them find the soul of a goddess. He didn’t care what happened to a kingdom of humans. His only concern was his Court, was keeping the Crown City of Niahvess safe from the dark fae. Everyone else be damned. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, with Rowan gone now, it only meant one thing. They were truly on their own in Faeven.
Maeve leaned in close to Saoirse. “I’m going to trace back the lineage of the Autumn and Winter Courts tonight. We’re going to find the anam ó Danua. We’re going to find a way to slay Parisa. And then we’re going to go home.”
It sounded like a solid plan.
She had no idea if it would actually work. If it did, then they would save Kells. Possibly even Cantata. And if not, then she would die trying.
Chapter Twenty
Afternoon sunlight spilled in through the windows of the library. Maeve sat at a large, round table with Saoirse and Casimir, surrounded by volumes of tomes, with leather-bound spines and velvety smooth pages. Spread before her was Aran’s book of painted fairytales, though with each chapter she read, the stories grew darker and more sinister. There were paintings of creatures that fed on the living, snatched souls in the night, and hunted the sound of heartbeats. There were water-dwellers, the ones who drowned their victims without mercy, or who kept them imprisoned in the watery depths of lakes and rivers. Then there were the terrifying creatures belonging to the Sluagh. Saoirse was studying the book of bloodlines, tracing the ancestral lineage of the fae back as far as possible to when they were first created by the goddess of life, Danua, and the god of death, Aed.
She shifted, uneasy, aware of the perpetually shifting mural above them. Today it portrayed a battle of some kind. There were swaths of glittering darkness and bursts of blinding light. There were shadows and sunlight, both of them clashed in an almost sensual manner.
“Maeve.” Saoirse’s voice dragged her back to the task at hand, and she looked down at the words Saoirse underlined with her finger. “Ceridwen said the anam ó Danua was torn from the Spring Court, right?”
“Torn from Parisa,” Maeve corrected, and glanced over at Casimir, whose clenched fists paled at the mention of her name.
“According to this diagram, there is a High King of Autumn who reigns, and his wife birthed only sons. A male bloodline is a dead end for us.” Saoirse spun the book around so both Maeve and Casimir could see. The drawing of a silver tree was sketched over two unfolded pages. “But in Winter, it looks as though there is a High Queen who could be in possession of the soul. If we don’t think it’s Ceridwen, then it has to be her.”
“And if it’s not?” Casimir countered, a twinge of frustration in his tone.
“Then our chance to save Kells, and the rest of the human lands, is lost.” Maeve hated speaking the words out loud. She hated thinking there was a chance they would fail, that this entire journey could all be for nothing.
“Okay then, so we go to the Winter Court.” Saoirse tapped her fingers along the table. “What’s the Crown City?”
“Ashdara,” Casimir answered automatically. “It’s the northernmost city in Faeven. And the coldest. The only way to get there is through Spring or Autumn.”
“Then we go through Spring.” Saoirse crossed her arms. “We’ll find Parisa first, and make her pay for what she’s done to Kells, then move forward to the Winter Court. There’s no use in backtracking.”
Casimir sat up. “You’re talking about murdering an Archfae.”
“So?”
“So, we don’t even know how to do it. They’re immortal, Saoirse.” Maeve glanced behind them, assuring the double doors to the library were closed. “You saw how horribly Tiernan defeated me in the courtyard, and that was without magic. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m beginning to think that everything we believed to be true about the fae has been nothing but a lie.”
Casimir nodded. “It certainly seems that way.”
“But we’re surrounded by a library of knowledge.” Saoirse let her hands rise and fall. “There has to be something within these walls to give us at least a hint of how a fae might meet their demise.”
“I’ll do some research.” Maeve stole another glance at the closed door, then looked up to the ceiling one last time.
“Just to be clear.” Casimir shoved his hood back from his head, and his eyes glinted in the sunlight. “Ashdara is a few days’ travel for us. Maybe further. Especially if we route through the Spring Court.”
